


Remember When

by bexacaust



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Being Famous sucks, Gen, Regret
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-20
Updated: 2018-11-20
Packaged: 2019-08-26 12:06:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16681321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bexacaust/pseuds/bexacaust
Summary: Steam rolled hairLook into the glare and pop it brotherSlick like 007 manYou fly like Kim Jong rockets





	Remember When

You were always the best at being alone on your winner’s podium.

A shame, a shame how you sacrificed comfort for your ego without fail…

He wanted to give you kindness, he wanted to give you better-than-worship. But the voice in the back of your helm- the one that told you to run far, run fast, run away…. Well.

It had always held your attention better than anyone’s honest smile.

He asked you for an autograph, for a moment of your time. One out of so many you had wasted, so many you had left. But he was just the bartender, just an outsider. Just a face you could so easily forget like all the rest of them.

_~~You were afraid of the honest happiness shining from an optic visor.~~ _

You are Blurr, top-tier racer, ex-Wrecker, favored by Kup AND Springer once. You tell yourself you don’t have time for some no-name in some bar on some ship-

_~~You wish Perceptor wouldn’t glare at you over his cocktail, like he knows who you really are.~~ _

You backtrack, you give him the autograph but tune out his voice. It’s nasally, in a charming way, and he’s giddy with excitement as he talks to you. You flashbulb your smile around the room, feeling it crack just a little as you recognize the Wreckers in the audience.

_~~You look away when Drift gives you a mock salute, disappointment on his faceplates.~~ _

When the bartender is ushered away, you make a crack about him being annoying- assuming he can’t be well liked. A scruffy minibot pretending to run a real establishment? A joke, in your opinion.

_~~Whirl narrows his optic at you, as though reminding you how little your opinion has been worth since Then.~~ _

And when you’ve left, you swallow hard and feel anxiety wash over you in a high-tide; like you’ve missed a chance to cut into first place.

But there was never a race, you were never in a competition…. Right?

And the world turns, and it burns, and turns some more. And then you find yourself polishing the counter at Maccadams and fighting the urge to snap and snarl at the few patrons you catch sending a pitying glance your way. 

You are Blurr, top-tier racer, ex-Wrecker, favored by Kup AND Springer once.

You are a has been, a wash out, a retired regret wiping up the spills of “had too much” and “how dare you talk to me”s. The bar is dim and you are tired; and you feel the creeping tendrils of anonymity slinking around your spark. All that you had lived for, all that you had lived ON… is worthless.

You’re a scruffy ex-racer, pretending to be better than the barhop you’ve become.

The door clicks open, and a voice calls in- nasally, in a charming way. You look up, and recognition flickers in your optics. Your spark rises, just enough to set itself up for a fall as Swerve looks back at you.

Something hurt flashes on that visor, the flier next to him puts a hand on the minibot’s shoulder.

“What’s wrong, mech?”

“Let’s uh. Let’s find somewhere else to celebrate. That bartender doesn’t like me much, I’ve heard.”

You watch him leave with bitter disgust on his faceplates and realize that that ancient anxiety had been right all along.

What you would give now for someone to laugh with you as the bar lights shut down row by row; like stagelights when the racetrack shuts down.

Your winner’s podium no longer seemed so golden, anymore.

* * *

    


End file.
